Zen and Dirty Dishes

Zen and Dirty Dishes.

Zen and Dirty Dishes

Zen and Dirty Dishes

 

The dog outside the window smears the glass.

And the sink is full of proof that I exist.

The messiness of life is all around me and I revel in it.

 

Tidiness is for the old ladies that knit their lives by patterns.

A life to full of what is now, not yet past.

Untidy lovers leaving scars on the furniture,

 

Children screaming and laughing leaving toys to be stepped on and broken.

Weeds in the garden where I started to plant a bleeding heart. The flower dead.

Folded laundry on the table undone almost.

 

This is life. This is the day. The hour. The second.

I am enamored, breathing in the possibility of joy.

Content with questions, only God Knows.

Bloom Where You’re Planted

Bloom Where You’re Planted.

Old Anger

Old Anger

 

 

Jagged rocks of anger exposed after the frost.

Old hurts, old anger

Repeated old sacrifice

Not becoming ritual, just repeating

Unable to be.

 

Amputation it might free me,

But what then

I can’t remember anything else

I’ve forgotten tea parties with broken china.

 

Suffocating anger

Your preciousness, your rightness

There isn’t room for me, there never was

Shaking in your presence, or alone it makes no difference now

 

I know hate, and pain, and loneliness.

And after all, I want you but different

I want sweetness and love.

But you have killed me over and over.

 

Abandon me to hate.

You make niceties,

That turns in me like jagged rocks

Empty overtures.

 

You take pride in your empty aptitude

Wearing lies like banners to your King.

A fool at court laughing at my pain

Excruciating broken pieces.

 

There is no quick escape.

I have no inspiration.

I cannot pretend,

Kissing you burns my lips.

 

The monster giving birth

Screaming disappointment

Fire from dead eyes

Consume the sacrifice

Share Your Salt

Share Your Salt.

Aroma of Dreams

Aroma of Dreams.

Aroma of Dreams

Aroma of Dreams

 

Tunnels of lilacs

Heavy boughs of aromatic lavender

Long moon shadows, streetlights

Children’s laughter, “your it”

Curfew whistle, train whistle

Leads to crisp sun dried sheets

A kiss on the forehead

Exhausted little bodies

Breath, deep the end of the day

One Hundred Names for Love: a Memoir

Diane Ackerman writes brilliantly, sensually and scientifically about her husband’s stroke and their road to a new normal. This book slams into your soul and leaves you in mourning for what is lost and then moves you into a radical celebration of human triumph.

I just finished reading “One Hundred Names for Love”. I was captivated by the story. My own husband is older than I am and I worry and wonder what will happen as he ages. Currently my husband suffers from alcoholism and I empathize with her situation. As I watch my own husband decay slowly.

I appreciated the science included in this book. It helped me understand the brain in a new way. It gave me an insight into the possibilities for my own brain and that of my husband. I was inspired to play with my brain working it more like a muscle.

I also appreciate the painstaking word choices. It added a level of sophisticated sensuality it was almost like reading poetry. The words stayed in my head as read them and I could hear them rolling around. It sounded like a hula-hoop being held up by centrifugal force.

Slow Decay

Slow Decay

You were the beginning of me

You Bohemian man, strong and self-defining

Electrically charged

Relaxed, confidant, bobbing from the past.

 

Naturally I fit inside you.

Soft touches fully consumed and

Closed off from the inside

Fragile and afraid and then slowly and suddenly you are assured, safety.

 

Where are you now?

Where are we?

I see your broken shadow, but you’re not here

I’m suddenly aware I’ve been alone for a long time.

 

You look small and fragile

Violent shattered dreams

Worn out, dried up, with out hope

Floundering, looking for inspiration.

 

Amnesia, won’t let you remember.

You hold the key

Igniting old passions.

Old peace is out of reach.

Seven Saris

Seven Saris

 

In the distance, there came a cry.

Rattling, shrill, exotic cry of my sisters

Surrounded by an opaque fog of sickening sweet incenses

The day drew ghostly figures.

White saris drifting bodiless among the leafless trees and dark sky.

The men standing near the tomb lowered the unboxed body into the earth

Foreign prayers foreign protocol

Dirt from familiar hands filled the hole.

Rattling, shrill, exotic cry of my sisters

Surrounded by an opaque fog of sickening sweet incenses

The day drew ghostly figures.

White saris drifting bodiless among the leafless trees and dark sky.